


Cherry Blossoms Don't Bloom

by CompletelyCreative



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is under multiple names kind of, Dean's soul is big here, M/M, Military Backstory, Soldier Dean, This is really epic, Vietnam War, World War I, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 04:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4166688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompletelyCreative/pseuds/CompletelyCreative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the first day that he saw him, Castiel could only remember one thing: honest green eyes. He is always seeing them, but he is never able to save them. Until the one day when he does.</p><p>Day 10 of my <a href="http://scarlettcharlie.tumblr.com/post/120572418981/fandom-songs-writing-challenge">Fandom-Songs 30 Day Challenge</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cherry Blossoms Don't Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> UGH THIS IS LATE IM SORRY IT TOOK LONGER THAN EXPECTED TO WRITE GUH
> 
> But I'm finally DONE with school hell yes
> 
> Day 10 of my [Fandom-Songs 30 Day Challenge](http://scarlettcharlie.tumblr.com/post/120572418981/fandom-songs-writing-challenge) (PAUSED until I get back from Vacation)
> 
> This day is based off of the song "Centuries" by Fall Out Boy

1916

The first day Castiel saw him, he was scrambling under a line of spiked fence, ducking his head so not to hit his eyes. He was a young blonde kid with scars splattered across his eyelids, and scabbed lips that he cut his teeth with in concentration. He was the second in line, behind a bearded man no younger than forty, but he had a face that yelled, ‘move it, grandpa.’ He wasn’t very big himself, but he had two honest green eyes that poured his soul into the rest of his body, and Castiel could not stop looking at him. The kid must have felt his stare, for when he got up from the mud he looked around himself until his gaze landed on the Angel. Clad in a pair of denim overalls and a stained cotton shirt,  
Castiel definitely looked out of place, but the honest green eyes were the only two that could see him. 

A year later, Castiel saw him again, lying on his stomach, looking through the eye of a musket. His hair had grown lighter and his skin had gotten darker, but there were still scars running across his eyelids, and his lip was cut on one side. He had grown an inch and a half but was still smaller than the man no younger than forty that was lying next to him, and as Castiel looked at the nose of his gun, he found it unnatural for him to be lying there, holding a gun to the head of someone unknown. The man beside him flicked his arm and told him to ‘just do it,’ and no one flinched when the gun fired. But when honest green eyes turned back and found overalls and a stained cotton shirt, Castiel could see his soul find guilt, and the boy put his gun down. Castiel looked straight at him, and smiled through the older man’s scoldings. The boy’s green eyes stayed fixed on the Angel that no one else could see.

Two years after that first day, Castiel found him lying on his back, with his eyes up to the sky. A man no younger than 40 was dragging him by the uniform, to shade, and holding his scruffy face. Castiel stood right next to the pair as the older man pleaded, ‘please, Chester, wake up... Chester, be well, be alive...’ But honest green eyes were not honest anymore. They simply looked up at the dusty sky, blind to the Angel that no one else could see, and the soul that no one else could see swam into the air, and the older man dropped his head to the dust and ran into the brush. Castiel looked over the staring body, the side of his head bloody and his left ear shattered, and ran his hand over his eyes. Scars still ran over cold eyelids.

He couldn’t save him.

 

1940

 

The first day that he saw him, Castiel was peering over a railing that barred land from a 20-foot drop. A tall man was standing in the dark of the dried well, calling up at the trees and getting the flapping of birds’ wings in response. He was trapped down there, Lord knew how, and had no means of getting out. No one was around to hear his calls, for the rest of camp had moved on, not caring to count heads. The only one that heard him was Castiel, the Angel that no one else could see. The man, only about 22, called up in a rough voice.

‘Hey, guys! I’m down here! Anyone!’ But his voice lost all hope. Castiel heard a rock clatter against the stone wall, with the man muttering to himself. ‘Shit, they’ve all left. It’s useless.’

Castiel looked up at the sky. God, he wasn’t supposed to do this... 

‘Not all of it is useless.’ The man down below stilled.

‘Is... Wait, is someone up there?’ Castiel wanted to regret speaking, as he was always told not to do. He heard the weight of a gun being picked up. ‘Who... Who is it?’ Oh, he really shouldn’t speak.... ‘Is that you, James?’ He really shouldn’t... ‘I swear, I’ll shoot.’

He didn’t respond to the man, and heard a shot from below. Something strong and solid lodged itself in the left side of his chest. The man down there was clearly aiming for the heart, and he clearly had excellent aim. Castiel coughed.

‘Thank you.’

Castiel leaned a bit more over the railing and let his vessel’s blood drip to the stone below.

‘Would you like some help in getting back up here?’

At first, he didn’t know why he was helping this man. Why he had spoken out of turn, ignored the orders of a soldier. But when the man below looked up, he took all of his regrets back. He had slicked-back dark brown hair that contrasted with his pale skin, and broad, squared shoulders. He looked like he fit in with the rest of the soldiers in his camp, but for one thing. The man looked at Castiel with two honest green eyes that fit the color of emeralds, and shone his soul like a light in Castiel’s eye. He blinked, and Castiel knew why he was helping this man. Castiel cleared his throat.

‘What’s your name?’ The man chewed on his lips, debating whether or not he should tell the truth, but it didn’t matter. Those eyes always did.

‘Winston.’ An almost perfect name... just like the last time. ‘Who’re you?’

Castiel looked down at himself. This time around, his vessel was a British man, clean shaven and well-kept. He himself was debating whether or not to use his true name. He decided against it.

‘Clarence.’

‘Sorry?’ Winston leaned closer to Castiel, pushing his right ear out from his head, ‘I can’t hear in my left ear.’ Castiel blinked, and cleared his throat.

‘Um, Clarence.’ Winston nodded.

‘Okay... what are you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What do you mean, ‘what do I mean?’ I just saw you take a bullet to the chest, and you’re still standing... Clarence.’ 

Right... Castiel had forgotten the detail that he just took a bullet to the chest, and paid no mind to it. He decided that it was best to play it casual, and shrugged.

‘Doesn’t matter what I am, if I’m the one getting you out. You have superb aim, by the way.’

‘Thanks... You fighting for the Allied?’ Castiel shook his head.

‘Let’s say that I’m independent.’

‘Then what are you doin’ here on the battle field.’

‘Saving you.’

Castiel wasted no time in flashing down into the well, grabbing Winston by the arm, and flashing back up to where he had just been standing. Winston had gone even paler than  
he originally was, looking about himself and looking at Castiel. There was pure fear on his face. 

‘What the hell are you...’ Castiel let go of his arm.

‘It’s like I said, Chester, it doesn’t matter what I am, if I’m the one saving you.’

‘I swear to Christ, if you’re an Axis power I’ll shoot your guts out--’

‘You’ve tried that, I’m afraid.’

‘--And who the hell is Chester?’ Castiel blinked at the realization of his mistake. 

‘No one. I just know a lot of people is all. I get mixed up. Sorry, Winston.’ But Winston was looking East, the direction that his troop had gone in to leave him behind. Castiel looked him up and down. ‘You could go West, you know. Leave the front-lines to fight for themselves.’ Honest green eyes looked back at Castiel, and Winston bit his lip.  
‘I can’t do that.’

‘And why not?’

‘Because they’d find me, eventually.’ Castiel could see his soul glowing in gentle beauty. ‘And because I don’t let people down.’ 

They both sighed together in one deep, quiet breath, and Winston stepped forward -- Westward. 

‘How did you do that, Clarence?’ Winston called back. Castiel shrugged.

‘I’m a very... Faithful man.’ Winston stopped and tilted his head back, laughing lightly. He turned to face Castiel.

‘Really? Cause I’m pretty sure that whatever you did was closer to a sin.’ Castiel looked Winston up and down again -- he was broad, with a straight posture, and he was trying to look disinterested, but honest eyes never lied... and Castiel had been around long enough to know what the people thought about that kind of honesty.

‘Tell me, Winston, do you find me attractive?’ Honest green eyes swirled and swam.

‘...Maybe.’ Castiel smiled.

‘Well then, I don’t think that I’m the only sinner here.’

***

Four years after that first day, Castiel stood at the edge of lapping waves on a wet beach. Young soldiers filed past him, through him, and around him, ducking and leaping to the ground. Many fell, and Castiel found himself standing over one of them. Salty waves splashed and stung a pair of honest green eyes that didn’t care to blink. The gel in dark hair was washed away with each wave, and his left ear was flooded with water. There was no hope for him -- a bullet had lodged itself in his neck and shattered his collarbone, and his right leg had been washed away in the water -- it was going to be over for him in seconds. While soldiers stepped over and around him, he only saw Castiel, standing over him in an ironed suit. He was trying to form words.

‘Sinner... Sinner... Sinner...’ he tried to speak, as if he were pleading, but Castiel could only hush him with the sad promise of his name.

‘I cannot save you now, Chester.’ It was almost like Winston was waiting for him to say that, to say something. Castiel watched the water of the ocean wash his soul out through his ear, and take him into the water. Castiel put his hand over honest green eyes, to close them for yet another time.

‘I cannot save you now, Winston.’

 

1975 

 

The first day that he saw him, Castiel was sipping a dry Gibson as he looked at the street below the balcony. He was walking against the current of the crowd on the sidewalk, and although his shoulders collided with many conflicting Pedestrians, he visibly shook at every car door that slammed, or every time a young child screamed in joy. Castiel could see light brown hair that spiked in all directions and plump lips that pouted when the man concentrated -- which was what he was putting great effort into just then. He was tall, a good size for a man who looked to be about thirty -- but that was all Castiel could see from his seat. He watched as the man opened the door to the bar and walked upstairs. He took his time -- Castiel noticed that he didn’t bend his right leg, and more planted it wherever he stepped. After a good thirty seconds, though, he was on the main floor.  
The man looked around at the busy tables and ran a hand through his hair. He huffed in tire before a waiter skittered up next to him and began guiding him over to Castiel’s own table. 

‘We have a table open right here, sir...’ Castiel could hear, and the man sputtered light objections. Before he could speak out loudly, a menu was placed across from Castiel. The man huffed once more, and Castiel looked at him expectantly.

‘Well, take a seat, why don’t you.’ A blush rose on the man’s cheeks before he stuttered out an apology.

‘Oh, I-- I’m so sorry, that wai-- waiter pretended like you didn’t even ex-exist. I can move, I swear.’ Castiel smiled, and shook his head.  
‘Nonsense. C’mon, order a drink.’ The Angel had learned that there was no use in being alone if company was offered, and he had begun to not care how Heaven saw his behavior. He liked the look of this certain man, anyway... He wanted a closer look.

So when the man sat down, Castiel leaned forward and squinted his eyes, and got exactly that. 

The more Castiel leaned in, the more freckles he could see on his skin. They were on his hands, on his ears, and they even danced across his eyelids. It was almost like someone took a paintbrush and splattered his skin with leaves that fell in Autumn, and he was on his way to winter. His eyes, however, told of a different season. They were of an Irish Green, the color of trees in a summer storm, and they warmed the inside of the man’s bones. His soul, honest and colorful, was now easily recognizable. Castiel looked down at his drink. He didn’t have to lie completely to this person. He never did.

‘Um... Sir?’ Castiel looked back up to nervous, honest green eyes. ‘Is everything okay? I -- I wouldn’t want to upset you...’

‘Oh, no, pal... You didn’t upset me. You just remind me of an old friend.’ Castiel could hear the waves of an ocean and the cries of a man no younger than forty in his own voice. He cleared his throat. ‘So what’s your name, bud?’ He had learned to speak like a true New Yorker in his near-thirty years of residing in the alleyways of the city. The man scratched the back of his neck.

‘Dee.’ A fanstastic name. ‘You?’

‘...Steve.’ He didn’t have to lie completely... that didn’t mean that he didn’t have to lie at all. Dee took the name with no question, though.

‘Okay... Can I-- Can I ask you a question, if you don’t mind?’ 

‘Shoot.’

‘Why didn’t that waiter-- waiter see you?’ Castiel smiled. Dee was quick, he was clever. He picked up on things fast. Castiel liked that. He leaned in a bit over the table.

‘Because you’re the only one who can.’ Dee was taken aback.

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s true. Look, I’ll demonstrate... HELLO! ANYONE! I’M BEING...’ He lowered his voice, ‘what should I be ‘being?’’ 

Dee was pale. Castiel nodded. 

‘--SUFFOCATED. NOW. IT’S HAPPENING. RIGHT NOW...’ 

No one in the bar turned their heads, and Castiel’s voice died back down into the flood of other voices. He smirked. 

‘See?’ Dee looked Castiel up and down, and nodded at his drink. 

‘How come you have a Martini, then?’ Even quicker. Even more clever. Castiel cleared his throat.

‘Well, first, it’s a Gibson -- Onions, not olives. And Second,’ Castiel downed the rest of his glass and spun the stem in his fingers, ‘I have my own tricks.’ 

After that, Dee simply nodded. They both knew that that was all he was going to get out of Castiel. It was Castiel’s turn.

‘So, Winston, got back from ‘Nam?’ 

Dee stiffened. 

‘I never told you about that...’

Play it Casual, as always. Castiel shrugged.

‘I guessed from the leg.’ Dee frowned and shook his head. 

‘No, I’ve had a faulty leg since I was a kid. And who’s Winston?’ Castiel pursed his lips.

‘Just someone I knew once... Great name though, hm?’ Dee shrugged.

‘I guess.’

A waiter came by the table, and Castiel fell silent. Dee ordered his drink, and Castiel didn’t talk until Dee had his order in his hand.

They made conversation for the rest of that afternoon, Dee becoming more curious about Castiel, and Castiel becoming more keen on Dee. By the time that the sun set, Castiel was laughing through his teeth.

‘Y’know, I typically don’t have any luck with soldiers.’

‘Well I’m not surprised. ‘Invisible’ guy like you, lookin’ like a classic gangster... I wouldn’t like me either, if I were your kind of guy.’ Castiel laughed and looked down at himself. This time around, his body was in a fitted pinstripe suit, and he kept a hat on his head at all times. He looked back up at Dee.

‘What kind of guy do you take me for then?’ 

Dee thought for a minute before responding.

‘The kind of guy that might be thinking that I’m his lucky shot.’ Castiel could see a grin on Dee’s face, even in the dim light.

‘Oh what, you flirting with me?’ Dee shrugged.

‘Maybe I am.’

Castiel liked the sound of that.

 

****

 

Four years after that first day, Castiel stood beside a hospital bed. Dee was lying there on his back, honest green eyes fixed on Castiel and Castiel only... or Steve, as he always knew him. Apparently he had contracted a long-hosted bacterial disease from Vietnam that no one was able to identify, and only Castiel knew that this was his last day. He wanted to reach out, comb his fingers through his mousey-brown hair, but he knew it was pointless. He couldn’t save him this time, just like he couldn’t save him last time, or the time before that, or the time before that. All he could do, the Unseen Angel, was say goodbye to him for the third time in the century. 

At least this time, Dee had the strength to close his own eyes, and show Castiel the freckles that were splattered across his eyelids, one last time.

He was tired of not being able to save him.

 

******

 

The first day that he saw him, Castiel’s eyes were burning a pure, bright, blinding blue. He was in the middle of a war, fighting through burning anarchists that fought against Heaven’s highest legions. But he wasn’t there for Heaven. Castiel was there for the deepest hole in Hell, one that hid a burning, shattered light that he was determined to put back together again. 

Deeper he climbed, his wings becoming more scythed and beaten as he pushed his was down. He didn’t care who he killed, who he ended, to get to the broken light. 

The first day that he saw him, Castiel found a bony, beaten, and tired body, hanging from its wrists. He didn't need to look closely to see the scars that covered the freckles on the body's eyelids, the spiked dark-blond hair and bitten lips. It was all there. On the perfect, beaten body.

The first day that he saw him, the man lifted his beaten head and looked about, until his gaze fixed on a glowing form, blinding and pure and menacing, but like a flame for a moth. He wanted to call up, but his vocal chords had been taken from his body, and he wanted to reach out, but his wrists were tied. All he could do was look.

The first day that he saw him, old, taken blue eyes met with honest green eyes, and it was over. The brightest light that the fires of Hell had ever seen glowed from the wings of a Holy Being, and just a few words were bellowed before Hell was unleashed by a Soldier of Heaven, fighting in a war of Hell.

‘Dean Winchester is saved.’

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](http://scarlettcharlie.tumblr.com).


End file.
